


PRIDE and (A Little Bit) Prejudice - On Ice?

by BeneficialAddiction



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alexis Rose Being a Good Sister, Alexis Rose is a total Girlboss, Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion, Canon Divergence, David Rose Being a Good Brother, David Rose Deserves Nice Things, Hockey, M/M, Modern Setting, On Ice!, Pride and Prejudice References, Rose Gold PR, hockey boyfriends AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:15:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28843698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeneficialAddiction/pseuds/BeneficialAddiction
Summary: Rose Gold, the up-and-coming New York based PR firm run by brother-sister tag-team David and Alexis Rose, specializes in making over both individuals and organizations from the inside out. Still new to the game, their services haven’t exactly become as sought-after as they were hoping in the big city. Their saving grace – both personal and professional – comes from the last place David ever thought he would find himself again - and he doesn't just mean Canada.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Theodore "Ted" Mullens/Alexis Rose
Comments: 60
Kudos: 73





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Pride and Prejudice (sort of)/Hockey Boyfriends AU no one asked for, starring David Rose as Lizzie, Patrick Brewer as (kind of) Mr. Darcy, Alexis as Jane, Ted as Bingley, Jake as (a much more likeable) Mr. Wickham, and Stevie as Charlotte. 
> 
> **NOTE: This isn’t _actually_ a rewrite of Pride and Prejudice – just a lot of common themes, borrowed quotes, and uncannily similar dynamics - but can’t you see Moira Rose as Mrs. Bennet?!?!

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a PR firm in want of a client has to take what it can get. 

Universally acknowledged, yes, but still incorrect, especially when it’s being preached by your father because you’re being too stubborn to accept it on your own. 

David and Alexis slam into their shared flat like a twin pair of hurricanes, each of them splitting off to their private spaces in search of some solitude and isolation in which to cool down. They’d expected that brunch with their parents would be trying – it always is – but neither of them had been prepared to have their frustration tolerance pushed as far as it was, and were desperate for a few quiet moments to recenter. 

Waiting until his bedroom door is closed securely behind him, David pulls out his phone and speed-dials Stevie, secure in the knowledge that Alexis is likely dialing Twyla just as quickly. He paces while the phone rings – once, twice, three times – before it connects and he lets out a barrage of pent-up annoyance, almost before she can get a greeting out. 

“What now Da...” 

“Can you believe this?” he practically shrieks, doing his best to keep the volume contained out of respect for his sister’s own pain and the thin state of their apartment walls. “I mean, why did they even bother flying out here and meeting with us if they were just going to say no?!” 

“Maybe they wanted to visit their only children,” Stevie huffs, diving right into the flow of conversation with an _audible_ eye roll. 

“Please,” David snorts, _“Imagine?_ They’ve changed but they clearly haven’t changed that much.” 

“Neither of them are _obligated_ to go with your PR firm David,” she points out, in the calm, half-distracted tone he remembers that suggests she’s playing a game of solitaire on the side. 

“If blood isn’t an obligation then what is?” he argues, dropping down onto the end of the bed. “Besides, we could do amazing things for you, you know that.” 

“I believe you David, but it’s not just my decision. Your dad and – ugh, _Roland_ – are both partners in this, and they out-voted me.” 

“I’m not mad at _you,”_ he snips back, his tone suggesting that maybe he is just a little, but they both know it’s misplaced annoyance. “I just can’t believe he actually turned us down.” 

Groaning, he presses his hands against his eyes until he sees sparks, the phone held between his shoulder and his ear, before leaning down to untie his shoes. 

“And _now_ he’s got the nerve to try to give us business advice.” 

Stevie makes a distracted, commiserating sort of sound but doesn’t comment – she's heard all this too many times before to willingly participate again. 

David doesn’t care - he’s salty and he’s not even mad about it. 

His parents had bought and sold every one of his gallery patrons without his request or his permission, but now that he and Alexis are _asking_ for work – not even a _favor_ just actual _work_ – they've refused. The two of them had gotten their mother’s entire _career_ revived based on their pro-bono work for The Crows Have Eyes III, but now that she’s reprised her role as Vivian Blake in the reboot of Sunrise Bay, suddenly they’re not good enough for her anymore, and Johnny had flat-out refused to let them be a part of the Rosebud Motel project. 

It’s infuriating, and he and Alexis are both pissed, but Moira had just spouted some nonsense about the family finances being in too precarious a place to take a chance on a fledgling PR firm and them being too reliant on their parents because who will maintain them when their father is dead? 

That’s maybe the one thing in the world that’s never kept David up at night. 

Johnny and Moira Rose were poster-models of the absent parent, and besides, David had learned a lot about himself after the family’s fall from grace; after the collapse of Rose Video, the loss of all their money, and their banishment to a little town called Schitt’s Creek. He’d learned that he is stronger, and braver, and more capable than he’d ever known, and so is Alexis. He’d learned that they actually work really well together, and that his sense of style paired with her influencer savvy and negotiations skills were a killer combination. He’d learned that they _could_ be successful without the clout that came with their parents’ names, and that living a lifestyle far different from the one they’d grown up in wasn’t the end of the world. 

Hell, in some ways it was even better. 

He has friends now, _real_ friends. Alexis is one of them - and that’s something he thought he’d never say - but sleeping less than ten feet away from her for three years had actually done their relationship some good. Stevie is another - an ex-hookup turned _best_ friend that he doesn’t think he could do without, and one who’d taught him that the less money you spent on vogue apartments and furniture, the more you had to spend on things that really matter, like good cheese and name-brand toothpaste. 

“You _know_ why your dad said no,” she scoffs down the phone line, reminding him why he loves her while at the same time making him reconsider the sentiment. “It’s got nothing to do with you.” 

“Well that’s pretty selfish,” David says flippantly, stretching out on his bed. “Wanting to redeem himself is no reason to deprive the RMG of a top-notch PR firm.” 

“I thought the top-notch PR firm nixed _RMG,”_ Stevie hums. 

“It’s not my fault,” David whines, “You guys labeled your chat group and Alexis keeps saying it like the name of some cute boyband and now it’s stuck in my head!” 

“Uh huh. So you’re mad that your dad wouldn’t help you guys out and now your mad that he _is_ helping you guys out?” 

“It’s not the same thing! Giving us a job and telling us how to _do_ our job is not the same thing!” 

“Sounds like you’re just mad that he came up with a better idea than you did,” Stevie drawls. 

“Alexis is the idea-man,” David reminds her, and Stevie snorts. 

“I’m sure she’d appreciate that concession. Anyway, what’s your dad pushing that’s got you so hot and bothered?” 

“He wants us to leave New York,” David spits from between clenched teeth, his stomach churning. 

“Ah. A real hot-button issue for you.” 

“Well it wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience the last time,” he growls, his mind flashing back to the day the family had learned that their business manager hadn’t actually filed their taxes in years, that he had embezzled hundreds of thousands of dollars and left them not only bankrupt but at the mercy of the IRS. 

They’d been exiled in disgrace on a musty greyhound that had deposited them and what meager belongings they could salvage in front of a decrepit motel in Canada of all godforsaken places, and all David had wanted for the next three years was to get back to the city that he loved. 

Now he’s back, finally, living like a real Girl Boss (TM), and his father wants him to leave again. 

“You’d be _choosing_ to leave this time,” Stevie points out, infuriatingly rational. “And besides, it kind of worked out for you in the end, didn’t it?” 

And well... 

He can’t argue with her. 

Those three years in Schitt’s Creek had changed the Roses, though in many ways they were still very much themselves. Fundamentally his parents were still the very same people down to the core, but he and Alexis – perhaps because they were younger and a bit more moldable – were miles from who they used to be. Their pride and their entitlement were nearly gone, worn down to nothing when the money that maintained it bled away, and their edges had been softened by the kindness and caring of people who hadn’t owed them anything and had never taken more than they could give. They still have sharp edges, yes, and can go cold and hard as diamond when challenged, but the callousness and vapidity they’d been born into were long gone. 

What had started out as a catastrophic fall from grace had resulted in changes David never would have dared dream of. 

A friend he can turn to, a sister who makes him better, a career that he loves and that he’s good at. 

Yes, he supposes leaving New York the last time had worked out for him. 

Doesn’t mean he’s going to admit that to Stevie. 

“Shut up,” he grumbles, and Stevie laughs down the line. “Anyway, what’s your next destination? When are you heading out?” 

They spend another half hour chatting back and forth about the Rosebud Motel Group’s next prospective acquisition, the tenth after the original, as their plan to turn motels from grubby road-side hellscapes to genuinely pleasant stopovers starts to really take off. Moira is going to be on-set for the next six weeks, so Johnny is taking the opportunity to get away and meet Stevie in northern Michigan to look at a twelve-room fixer-upper on the lake. It means that Stevie gets to do the one thing she’d always thought was out of her reach – travel and see different places – and David is so happy for her he could cry. 

He manages to rein it in enough that she doesn’t hear him sniffling over the phone, and after working through their schedules together to find a weekend that they might both conceivably be in the same place, they sign off with their trademark farewells. He would never admit it to her but he feels better just having heard her voice, that dry, sarcastic tone roasting the hell out of him for being so dramatic about this. 

_Half_ the amount of drama, would maybe be appropriate... 

He’ll have to check with Alexis. 

Giving himself another twenty minutes to lie on his bed with one arm slung over his eyes, he eventually feels calm enough to get up and face the inevitable. Emerging from his bedroom, he heads straight for the galley kitchen and opens a bottle of wine – white in deference to his sister and the no doubt disgusting amounts of Chinese food he’s going to consume tonight. He’s got their usual order already put in for delivery by the time Alexis appears a few minutes later, and he toasts her wryly with his wine glass, clinking it with hers while they both drink in silence, reacclimating to what is about to become their new reality. 

“So...” Alexis says, slow and soft and hesitant, and David tips his head back toward the ceiling, groaning loudly. 

“Food first,” he advises, because there’s no other way he’s getting through this. “Go wash your face – it will be here by the time you get rid of those raccoon eyes.” 

“Ew David!” she shrieks, her hands flying to her cheeks where her mascara has smudged at the edges. 

It’s not as bad as that – she probably hadn’t _cried,_ just teared up a little – but the familiar teasing lightens the mood and makes them both feel a little bit lighter, if the way she floats off toward the bathroom is any indication. She comes back in her pink silk pajama set – the ones that look too much like their mom’s with their long, cuffed sleeves and pearl buttons – her hair twisted up into a neat bun and her face clean, and it would calm him if not for the folder in her hand. 

But, she’s better than she was, and they're better together than they were before Schitt’s Creek, so neither of them mention it and neither of them poke, David going to the door to collect their food from the delivery guy he’d buzzed up and Alexis scrounging for a couple of crumpled bills for a tip. They eat over the tiny island because they’d learned not to trust the waxy containers from Oriental Dragon on their couch - Alexis sipping Hot and Sour Soup and David shoveling crab rangoon into his mouth like it’s the last thing he’ll ever eat - and when they’re both stuffed they smash the fortune cookies against the counter with their fists before shaking the wafer dust into their mouths and throwing the slips of paper away. 

They make their own future now, their own fortunes. 

It was one of the first things they’d agreed on when getting this apartment together, after setting up a bathroom schedule and splitting up the chores. 

Losing their money had been almost third-hand, by Eli through their parents, and they never want to be in that position again. They want to succeed or fail by their own hand, and have taken a lot of pains to make that their reality. 

Maybe that’s why it stings so much that their father had been the one to essentially ‘find’ their next big client. 

_‘Our only big client,’_ David thinks bitterly as he follows Alexis over to the couch, both of them sitting down on the area rug in front of the coffee table. 

They’ve worked a few jobs so far, done some amazing things for an up-and-coming Indi band, but nothing the size or scale that they really want to be working. 

That their chance may have finally arrived in this particular format... 

Ugh. 

“Ok, so like, here’s Dad’s contact,” Alexis says, spreading out the paperwork and pushing a business card toward him. 

“Can we please not?” David grumbles, and Alexis widens her eyes, flicks her fingers. 

“Totally,” she agrees. “So some guy named Ray bought a junior hockey team...” 

David sneers, a visceral shudder running through him. 

“They’re _cute_ David!” Alexis says, flipping through to find a photo of a group of (maybe) men all dressed in dark blue wearing mismatched skates. 

“You can’t even tell,” he argues, grabbing the photo to take a closer look, because really, they’re all just big boxy shapes underneath what he prays is copious amounts of padding. 

No human being should be so... _rectangular._

“Mississauga Steelheads,” he mutters, squinting to read the fine print along the bottom of the photo. “Wait a minute, are these _teenagers?!”_

“They _were,”_ Alexis explains in a tone that suggests he should already know that. _“Junior_ hockey David. But I guess they were really good and won a bunch of games and like, now they get to play with the grown-ups.” 

“So they’re adults,” he counters, feeling a desperate need to clarification. 

“Um...” 

His head snaps up in alarm as Alexis shuffles through her papers, pulling out what looks like a bulleted list. 

“It looks like their youngest guy is twenty-three,” she says. 

Breathing a little easier, he waves a hand in permission for her to continue. 

“So _anyway..._ Ray bought the team and they got moved up to the NFL league, and then I guess they like, did really bad last year? And they’re all really sad about it and not getting a lot of money for their little skaties and stuff, so Ray wants _our_ help to make the whole team better.” 

“That’s ridiculous,” David mutters, tossing the photo down and pawing through the paperwork himself. “We don’t know anything about hockey Alexis – how _exactly_ are _we_ supposed to help?” 

“Come on David, you know you know how to...” 

“We don’t know anything about _hockey_ Alexis,” he reiterates, cutting her off. 

“But we know _marketing,”_ she insists, meeting his gaze fiercely. “We know how to make things work on a shoelace budget and how to get more money when we need it, and we know how to make things _look better_ than they really are.” 

And well... 

She’s not wrong. 

They’d learned a lot of things living in Schitt’s Creek, all of those among them. 

Sighing, David drops his face into his hands and resigns himself to his fate. 

“Ok,” he breathes, getting to his feet to pace because he always thinks better when he moves. “Ok, ok, ok. What first?” 

A slow grin curls over Alexis face. 

“First we update our passports.”


	2. Chapter 2

At David’s insistence, they do two Zoom meetings with Ray Butani before agreeing to anything, then iron out all the expectations and sign a contract with clearly agreed-upon payment schedules before they even think about going back to Canada. Financial stability has become pretty important to both of them, so Alexis doesn’t put up much of a fuss when he gets a little intense about it, delaying the whole thing by two weeks before they commit. They accept Ray’s offer of a two-bedroom apartment near the team’s practice rink as a part of their compensation - because apparently he’s involved in _multiple_ business ventures, which is a concern - and tell him they’ll be there before the official season begins. 

Grossed out by the idea of subletting to a stranger, they decide to bite the bullet and break their lease altogether. It’s difficult to do despite the fact that their new contract runs for the full year, but they agree it’s the only feasible option and manage it with minimal wine-drinking to dull the pain. It feels more permanent than David would like and that terrifies the hell out of him, but all-in-all it seems best for his anxiety just to cut ties entirely and start fresh. He comforts himself with the promise that at the end of this ridiculous job he can do the same thing again, come right back with bigger and better things under his belt and the ability to really do New York the way he wants to without worrying about going over the grocery budget every week. 

Doesn’t mean they don’t splurge the last few days leading up to their flight. They buy New York bagels and soup dumplings, banana pudding from Magnolia Bakery and cookies from Levain, and compromise by purchasing business class tickets instead of first class. David’s pretty sure they can write them off on Rose Gold’s taxes anyway since it’s business travel, so it only makes sense. The extra leg room helps a little, but he’s always been an anxious flier and seeing New York – hell, the United States – drop away from them, knowing they’re going back, not quite to Schitt’s Creek but close enough, puts a knot in his stomach like he hasn’t had in years. 

They land at the Toronto Pearson International Airport and are uncomfortably surprised to find Ray Butani waiting for them with a large, hand-drawn sign complete with roses printed in the corners. His mustache is even more imposing in person and his personality even more exuberant, and David is exhausted by the time the introductions have been concluded. Ray pumps his hand up and down far too vigorously before pulling Alexis into a strangely delicate hug, babbling the entire time about how happy he is to see them and how - despite the fact that he’s using his taxi (Rides by Ray) - he won’t charge them for the trip out to Mississauga. First-time Freebie he calls it, and David and Alexis share a silent look promising to never use Rides by Ray again, even before they actually lay eyes on the sensible beige mini-van waiting in the lot. 

Smiling tightly around his heartburn, David helps pile their luggage into the trunk and climbs into the back seat beside his sister, keeping half an ear on the conversation for anything useful while carefully buckling himself in. 

“...and I’m just so happy to have your help!” Ray says as he reverses sharply out of his parking space. “Last year was absolutely disastrous!” 

David finds himself distressed by Ray’s cheerful admission – Alexis just smiles and nods. 

“Mmmm, mm-hmm,” she agrees, pulling a pad and pen out of her little Gucci clutch. “Why do you think that was?” 

“Maybe we could save the work for tomorrow and just get us moved in first?” he suggests, trying to keep his tone more mellow than he feels. 

“Of course David; you must be excited to see your new apartment,” Ray chirps, gunning the accelerator to get them out onto the freeway without bothering to signal. “It’s a lovely two-bedroom; open plan, lots of natural light, and yes, someone _did_ take their own life in the space but the good news is, we’ve replaced the ceiling fan. It’s now a breakaway model.” 

David goes utterly still, his heart pounding in his ears, and Alexis’ fingernails dig into his knee, a warning. This has felt like a risk from the start, has been scary and awful and everything he doesn’t want, and now knowing that they’re about to be left in a _haunted apartment..._

It’s fine, it’s fine, he’s fine. There’s nothing they can do now – they're locked into the contract and have nowhere else to go, and while neither he nor Alexis had shared their move with their parents, David had told Stevie and he’s happier to be close to her. The RMG has a holding in London – London, _Canada_ because she’d been making fun of David when she’d suggested the acquisition – and subsequently might find herself only a couple of hours away at any moment. 

He can do this. 

David tunes out Ray’s chatter and watches Alexis make a couple of notes out the corner of his eye but doesn’t really pay attention. Eventually they pull up in front of a neat little building – all brown brick – and Ray helps them haul their suitcases up to the second floor. Unlocking the deadbolt, he pushes the door open and gestures them both inside, leaving them to stumble over the pile of luggage as they push it in ahead of them and drag it along behind. He’s pushing his drooping hair back off his forehead and out of his eyes, panting a bit when he finally gets a look around. 

It’s _nice._

There’s an open kitchen completely separate from the large living area, visible through a set of open french-style doors. The hardwood is actually wood laminate but it’s a lovely, pale grey color and looks relatively new, and he tries not to think why someone might have ripped out the carpet recently. Ray had promised the place came mostly-furnished, and there’s a cushy looking couch in an incorrect color along one wall, an old, boxy television and DVD player sitting on a narrow entertainment stand across from it. Two doors on opposite sides of the room open into the bedrooms, complete with full-sized beds, and it’s been so long since he’s slept on more than a twin – even in New York – that he could cry. 

It’s also been a long time since he hasn’t had to share a wall (or an entire room) with his sister, so he graciously allows her to rush ahead of him and pick which one she wants first. 

“It’s so cute David!” she squeals as she zips back and forth, peeking into the bathroom and then the kitchen cabinets. 

He wouldn’t exactly call it _cute_ but it’s certainly more _space_ than they could have ever afforded in New York, and there’s even a tiny balcony overlooking an empty lot at the back, all green grass and a few scrubby trees. 

He has a headache. 

It takes another forty-five minutes to get Ray out, to talk him through all the conversation he apparently needs, to hear out all the little things he _really doesn’t_ need to tell them about the apartment. The only saving grace of the whole experience is that he’s left them the delivery-menus of the best nearby restaurants in a drawer and drawn out of a map of which public buses they can take to get to the nearby ice rink. David cringes at the thought but they don’t have a car, and then immediately cringes again because Ray follows up his explanation of the public transportation system by telling them he’ll pick them up tomorrow morning. In his excitement to introduce them to his team for the first time he’s apparently already forgotten that he intended to charge them for any future Rides by Ray. 

Faced with the prospect of a crowded public bus, David has to re-evaluate his willingness to get back into a mini-van with the man. 

Once the door is locked behind their chipper landlord/client - and _no,_ David doesn’t want to think about the conflict of interest there – he drags his stuff into the second-best bedroom and shuts himself in, just for a moment’s quiet. He looks longingly at the bed, made up with cheap cotton sheets and a grey coverlet, but knows if he lays down even for a second he won’t wake up again for several hours. Instead he forces himself to open the dresser drawers and the tiny closet, to unzip his luggage and begin packing his clothes away, to tuck his shoes into the weird closet-organizer thing someone had left in the bottom. 

It takes longer than it should. Neither he nor Alexis have as many things as they once did, and they’d really only brought their clothes and a few personal items with them. Everything else had been sold or had gone with the apartment, leaving them with enough money to set themselves up comfortably here, but his carefully curated selection of sweaters is still smaller than he’d like. Still, they have enough, enough cash to get themselves a cheap vehicle and outfit their kitchen and refrigerator, and maybe even upgrade their bed linens, enough security that they don’t have to be scared for their future... 

He can’t speak for Alexis, but he’s still terrified.

**XXX**

David wakes up the next morning feeling almost hungover, despite not having drunk any alcohol. He's queasy and headachy and feels like he didn’t sleep at all, despite his new bed being surprisingly comfortable, and he wants nothing more than to crawl back beneath the subpar sheets when his alarm goes off, but he and Alexis had promised to be ready when Ray arrived to pick them up before Morning Skate – whatever that was.

Dragging himself upright, he grabs the outfit he’d laid out the night before and makes his way to the bathroom, eyes only half open. The air is warm and steamy inside, unpleasant against his skin, but at least he knows Alexis has already come and gone and he can get ready without interruption. He feels a little bit better after a shower of his own, and going through his skin care routine is soothing to his nerves. Dressed, every hair in place – and yes, he’d checked his eyebrows too – he takes a deep breath and steps back into the living room. 

“Morning David!” Alexis calls, and the only reason he doesn’t grimace is that she keeps her tone low and relatively flat. Not too chipper or cheery, she’s focused intently on the task she’s set herself, her hands flitting back and forth across the kitchen island where she’s laid out ingredients for smoothies – a talent she’d thankfully improved on after Twyla had gotten her started back in Schitt’s Creek. 

“You look nice,” he says as he comes to sit on one of the rickety looking barstools that had come with the apartment. 

Alexis flicks him a soft smile, her hair curled loosely around her shoulders, her dress of white eyelet-lace hitting just below the knees. It’s a bit more modest than she normally goes for, a bit more professional, and paired with a flat leather belt, her golden initial necklace, and her matte mauve lipstick, she really does look nice. The fact that her outfit plays perfectly off his own – _slim-legged black slacks and a black button up with a grey-and-white floral print_ – makes no nevermind to him. 

It’s just... 

They're both dressed for success, but not too starched either. 

It’s a nice visual reminder that not only are they in sync with each other but that they’re in the right headspace too – going out to do business while still recognizing that they're not who they were and not dealing with the same types of people, the same board-room expectations. 

The last thing David wants is to end up like his father, still dressed in a full suit day-in and day-out despite long having left that kind of business behind. 

Alexis pushes a strawberry-banana smoothie toward him and starts blending up her own, and David sips it slowly in the hope that it will settle his nervous stomach. He wishes for bagels and bacon, or maybe blueberry pancakes – because the last thing he needs is for his stomach to rumble out loud the first time he’s meeting all the hockey hooligans – but he knows better than to carb-load when he’s feeling this uncertain of himself. The fruit and yogurt help, as does the dash of fresh ginger Alexis had tossed in, and he finishes the whole thing while she only sips through half of hers. It’s the only sign that she’s nervous too – it’s been a long time since David’s had to monitor her for a relapse in one of her eating disorders. 

“Let’s go,” she says suddenly, swiping away a notification on her phone. “Ray’s here.” 

“Oh my god,” David breathes, standing up to take their glasses to the sink. “Why do you have his number in your phone?” 

“Um, because he’s our _client_ David,” she points out unhelpfully. “And besides, it means that _you_ don’t have it in _yours.”_

And well... 

She’s not wrong. 

That, and the fact that David clocks her shoes when she steps around the island – a pair of white high-top sneakers with mauve shoelaces that once again pair perfectly off his own black pair – makes him feel just a little bit proudly tearful of her, of the two of them together. 

“Are we ready to do this?” he asks, wringing his hands, and Alexis grins, reaching over to boop him on the nose. 

“Love this journey for us!”


	3. Chapter 3

Stepping into the hockey arena is a nauseating combination of familiar and foreign for David, and entirely uncomfortable. Ray’s driving hadn’t done anything but aggravate his stomach and his nerves, and the echoing, cavernous quality of the space doesn’t help. They’d come in through some weird, underground back door and Ray had given them each a set of keys, explaining their use as he leads them through winding, darkened tunnels. A painfully brief tour had shown them several sets of offices, one of which had been assigned to them to share, but it was spacious and housed two separate desks so he would’ve much rather stayed there than gone down to the actual rink. 

Naturally he doesn’t get his wish and it seems silly for him to even be upset at all, so he grits his teeth and moves forward like it doesn’t matter, like he doesn’t miss it with everything he is. 

The arena isn’t the biggest one he’s ever been in. He’d attended the Salt Lake Olympics in 2002, but he still feels small and insignificant when they finally emerge from the hallways into one of the reserved boxes. Even looking down from above he’s still overwhelmed by some sense of _less,_ and he’s grateful for the way Alexis clings tightly to his arm as they slowly follow Ray down row after row of bleacher seats to the benches along one side of the rink. The scent of the ice is strong in his nose – and he’s aware of how stupid that sounds because ice is just frozen water and doesn’t have a smell, but it definitely does and it hits him like a wrecking ball to the chest. 

He’s distracted by it, by the phantom sensation of blades under his feet, so he thinks he can be forgiven for the startled little shriek he lets out when, very suddenly, a pair of bodies collide violently with the glass wall just in front of his face. 

Chaos ensues, shouting and a little bit of brawling, and David is abruptly reminded of exactly why he’s always been a bit disgusted by this sport. It seems a perfect breeding ground for toxic masculinity, all violence and offense-taking, and he’s exhausted by the mere thought of it by the time a sharp whistle pierces the air and calls the tussle to a halt. 

“Players take a knee!” someone barks coolly, and David is immediately impressed with their control as the two-dozen-odd blue jerseys on the ice all slide to their knees. 

He’s only seen that kind of command one or two other times, and never outside of a bedroom or a very particular type of club. 

A middle-aged woman with a shaved head wearing khakis and a quilted vest over her flannel steps into the little circle their group had formed and cocks an imperious eyebrow in Ray’s direction. 

“I told you these practices are closed,” she says in a flat, exasperated voice, one that speaks of both long-suffering and resignation. 

“Oh this isn’t like last time Ronnie,” Ray rushes to assure her, his wide grin belying his lack of understanding for her concern. “This is David and Alexis Rose, the PR team I’ve hired.” 

Ronnie turns and runs her eyes over both of them before apparently deeming them acceptable. David takes her measure just as quickly and already knows exactly how much pressure he’s going to need to apply to meet her handshake. She seems vaguely impressed and he smirks before she moves on to Alexis, holding her limp hand a little longer than she’d held his out of pure consternation when Alexis extends it palm-down. 

“What’s _your_ deal?” she asks curiously, looking her over a little more closely. “You’re pretty; what’s that like?” 

“Um, it’s good?” Alexis replies, wearing the sharp-eyed expression she saves for fighting down a blush. 

David feels her pain – as much as she fights to be taken seriously for her talents nowadays, she’s still extremely susceptible to flattery. 

“Ronnie is our head coach – I hired her when I purchased the team,” Ray grins. “She’s been just excellent in getting the men up to snuff.” 

“Except for that you lost almost every game last year,” Alexis points out innocently, and David very nearly face-palms. 

Ronnie stares at her for a second that seems to last forever, then to his immense relief barks a laugh. 

“I like this one,” she says, turning away toward the ice. “Come on, come meet the rest of them.” 

Moving around a bench, she opens a small door in the wall and steps out onto the ice, not even pretending to wait. As Ray watches on expectantly – and how a mustache can seem to project emotions all on its own he has _no_ idea – David follows behind, cursing under his breath for love of his Rick Owens and how _incorrect_ it is to be on the ice without skates. He spares a brief moment’s gratitude that Alexis wasn’t tottering around on six-inch heels, then turns his attention to the two-dozen men in navy blue shirts who’d lined themselves up before them. 

“Good morning Steelheads!” Ray calls cheerily, slipping and sliding along as he brings up the rear of their little pedestrian parade. 

_“Good morning Ray,”_ they all chorus back, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. 

“I told you all I would bring in some lucky charms for us and they’ve finally arrived!” he continues, gesturing to David and Alexis even as they both grimace in response to his implications. “Please welcome David and Alexis Rose!” 

Ray immediately starts clapping like he expected the rest to follow in some sort of ovation, but the players all just stare, looking them up and down like they’re entirely underwhelmed, and David’s arms naturally gravitate to cross over his chest. He wishes very suddenly for his long sleeves, for a sweater or his leather jacket, for _armor._

“Rose, like Rose Video?” one of them asks, but since they’re almost all still wearing their abominable headgear David can’t tell which one. 

“Um, totally not important,” Alexis says breezily, reaching over to touch David’s elbow. “My brother and I are here to give your little team a make-over and see if we can get you feeling better about yourselves so you can maybe play your game a little better too.” 

A few of the assembled players shift on their skates, a few turn and look at each other, and David once again feels distinctively small facing down a line of rather large, athletic men who were only moments ago beating each other up and whose livelihoods his sister just insulted. Closing his eyes, he breathes through his nose before stepping in to do some damage-control. 

“What she means is that we’ll be working on funding and brand promotion so that you can focus on playing better hockey ball,” he explains, and one of them barks a laugh while a few others mutter amongst themselves. He gets the impression he said something wrong but doesn’t know what, so he just looks to Ronnie for some kind of direction. 

She rolls her eyes with a huff and makes some kind of gesture that has the skaters all doffing their helmets, and David’s hit by another kind of wrecking ball that he hadn’t bothered to prepare for. 

They’re hot. 

Like, literally, all of them, ridiculously... good-looking men... 

Swallowing hard, he schools his face into a comfortably familiar expression of apathetic disinterest. It’s fine – he's been surrounded by attractive people for most of his life, it’s not like he can’t deal with it. He’s just... vaguely annoyed by it, that’s all. One more thing on a list a mile long why this is an incredibly bad idea... 

The small squeaking sound Alexis makes beside him lets him know that she’s very obviously come to the same realization and doesn’t quite feel the same way. 

Oh god, now he’s going to have to keep an eye on _her_ too... 

“Please, allow me the pleasure of introducing you to our little team,” Ray says, flinging out an arm to amongst the group. “This is Jake, Ted, Miguel...” 

And well... 

David tunes out. 

He can’t be blamed really; there’s nearly two dozen skaters assembled before them and there’s no way he’s going to remember all their names on the first go-round. Alexis will but she’s good with things like that, and honestly, they all look kind of the same in their dull navy uniforms. Ray’s gestures are wild and uncontrolled in his excitement, and most of the men only offer a bro-nod jerk of their chin on introduction, though one or two of them offer a wave or even a smile. It’s futile really, so he chooses to spend his time more wisely – watching body language and positioning, trying to learn something about the team dynamic. 

Ted and Miguel are at opposite ends of the ice, and (he’s pretty sure) had been the ones to collide with each other against the glass, so there's clearly something going on there. There seems to be a natural break down the middle of the team, the rest of them grouping off with either of the two men standing in as some kind of leader. Within the two clusters there are more breaks and groupings, and David’s dread grows because despite the fact that he can keep his feet underneath him on an ice rink, he knows literally absolutely nothing else about this stupid game. 

If the expressions on the team members’ faces are any judge, they can tell. 

They all look uncomfortable, awkward, except for maybe one or two: Ted, who’s looking at Alexis like she’s the sun in the sky, Jake, who seems to be looking at _David_ with some serious, hooded bedroom eyes... 

And that one. 

_Patrick_ – Ray's voice offers up, just as David’s attention is drawn to him. 

He’s handsome, David thinks, dark chestnut curls stuck to his forehead with sweat. He’s pale, his cheeks pink – no doubt with exertion – and he seems confidant enough on his skates, but he’s the only one of the entire group who doesn’t acknowledge his name being called at all. 

He’s staring – _scowling_ – right at David like his very presence is offensive, and everything about him screams discomfort. 

David’s anxiety immediately trips into overdrive, coming up with a dozen reasons why this guy looks ready to run him over with a Zamboni, every one of them ridiculous. He can’t come up with a single thing he’s done in so short a span of time to warrant _this..._

“...rehydrate then get your butts back on the ice!” 

David startles as Ronnie shouts, as the clusters of men suddenly break apart into a rush of chaotic movement. Most of them head for the wall of the rink and step out onto the boards, but a few others swarm over to Alexis to introduce themselves a little more personally. Rolling his eyes David steps away, giving them all enough space to crowd in around her, but to his surprise she gently brushes them off. 

Shocked, and a little intrigued, he allows himself to be pleased with her professionalism a moment too soon, because as the hockey-ballers start to clear out the last of them glides up, blonde and preppy and not really her type, but very suddenly her eyes are going large and wide and her hands begin to toy with her hair almost subconsciously. 

David stares, stunned, because he can’t remember the last time Alexis flirted without it being very intentional and very, very strategic. 

“...you might just be the most beautiful girl this ice has ever seen.” 

“Oh please,” she simpers, fluttering her lashes, “I’m sure there’s like, _some other girl...”_

“I’m Ted Mullens,” he says, all sweetness and charm, tugging off one of his over-sized mittens to shake Alexis’ hand. 

Unlike Ronnie he recovers well when she fails to reciprocate like a normal person, bringing her hand up to brush a kiss to her knuckles. She blushes and giggles and David clears his throat, loudly enough that Ted turns and greets him with just as much sincerity. His grin is too bright, too wide for David’s taste, but he still prefers it to the stiff, uncomfortable glower _Patrick_ is wearing as he hovers near Ted’s shoulder. 

“Maybe you could show me around later,” Alexis says, drawing his attention back to her. “I mean, I definitely need to get to know you better to figure out how I can help best.” 

“Absolutely, maybe we could go out for some... _rinks_ after practice and I can answer any questions you have.” 

“Hmm, you and the rest of the team,” David interrupts, the better to cut all this off before it really gets started. 

Puns, honestly. 

“Oh, of course!” Ted agrees earnestly, turning to his shadow. “The guys are great – you’ll see. Jake’s cool, and Sven and Matty and, oh, this is Patrick!” 

“Nice to meet you Patrick!” Alexis purrs, tossing her hair and offering him her hand, but Patrick barely flicks her a glance before nodding in acknowledgement. “You should _totally_ come with us.” 

“Thank you,” he says slowly, like he’s having trouble finding the words. “But I don’t really drink.” 

“That’s totally fine, David doesn’t really drink either!” Alexis replies. “You can keep him company.” 

David snaps around to glare at her because that’s a blatant lie and she shouldn’t be pushing him on someone who’s so clearly uncomfortable with him, but she’s attempting to give him one of her terrible ‘subtle’ winks and pointing at Patrick from behind Ted. By the time he turns to apologize for his sister, he’s horrified to find that the man is already skating off again, his shirt number flashing at David like a taunt. 

Ted watches him go, surprise written all over his face, but then he’s offering them all kinds of awkward apologies and zipping off after his friend. 

“Um, wow, rude much?” 

David hums in acknowledgement, tries not to be too offended. Alexis is frowning, but looks thoughtful, and eventually steps in close to his side, twining her arms around his elbow and waiting for him to lead her off the ice. Her fingers pluck at his shirt over his ribs, a sign that she's uncomfortable, and David ignores it as best he can. Consoling each other is still new for both of them and he’s kind of annoyed by it, even if he also secretly takes a tiny bit of comfort from it. Guiding them out of the way of the hockey hooligans, all piling back out onto the ice as a sudden burst of music comes from the overhead speakers – a poppy R&B mess that he makes a note to change _immediately_ – he finds a safe spot for them to sit on the bleachers out of the way. He wants to talk to Ronnie but she’s clearly in the middle of something, getting all the players back into some sort of order with short, sharp blasts of her whistle. 

The choreography is actually rather elegant. They move in confidant patterns, weaving back and forth in lines across the ice, and ok, maybe it’s not so terribly different from what he knows. He can look and see that number 27 is weak on his left leg and number 44 seems to be strangely top-heavy in the way he moves, all his weight forward. It’s more aggressive and more... blunt than he’s used to, not as delicate, but all of it just as intentional, and he feels something in his chest settle. 

If his _stomach_ flips a little every time he glances over number 13, it doesn’t mean anything at all.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time practice comes to an end, David’s ass is numb from sitting in the bleachers and his ears are in pretty much the same condition from Ray’s constant babble. It wouldn’t be so bad if his words were meaningful, but he’s nearly impossible to keep on-topic, spiraling off in all directions to talk about every business venture he’s involved with _except_ the one literally in front of them. He consoles himself with the fact that Alexis had checked out long before he had, her pad and pen going limp in her hand as her attention is drawn by the movement and noise on the ice below. He only hopes she’s taking more from it than the fact that underneath the helmets are some very handsome gentlemen. 

He’s not really getting all that much from it himself. His mental notes had started with the need to change up the Steelheads’ playlist and had quickly devolved from there. He counts a total of twenty-three blue shirts but once things get going there’s only twelve on the ice at a time. They seem to be playing a game against each other – at least, he thinks so, based on the fact that six are given some hideous yellow ponchos to pull on over their uniforms. One person from each side stays in a net at the end of the rink and two others hang back with them, while the other three are all over the place. Their stick-bats flash in and out, flicking the little black hockeyball back and for between them, and David wonders how no one trips. 

Every twenty minutes or so Ronnie blasts her whistle and a handful of players switches out for others. The extras wait on the bench closest to the rink wall, some of them hanging over it to watch, hollering and shouting advice and criticism in equal measure. David wishes he’d brought his journal to make notes – he'd gotten a new one specifically for this job so he doesn’t have to muck up his personal book with a bunch of sports terms – but he’s careful to keep his list of questions organized in his head. He’s ready to corner Ronnie the moment he gets a chance – he has some ideas, some plans, but he gets the feeling it’s smarter to speak to her _before_ taking anything to Ray if he wants real answers. 

_Colors, uniforms, sponsorships, savings, a name..._

“You need a new name,” he says out loud, because of all the things they need to address, that’s the most important, and the one that Ray will probably have the most say in. 

“They’ve always been the Missassauga Steelheads...” Ray points out, sounding befuddled as David interrupts him mid-sentence. 

“Yes, and that’s half the problem,” he agrees. “They were a junior team when they were the Steelheads – teenagers. They're grown men now, adults playing in the bigger leagues. Plus, they did horribly last year.” 

Ray looks skeptical, but Alexis is nodding, offering him a re-assuring smile. 

“David’s totally right,” she says. “Everything we do is going to come together really nicely under a new name, and you can get some distance from a not-so-great record.” 

“You’re creating something totally different here Ray,” David reassures. “Bringing your players together under _your_ name; re-branding, as it were.” 

“Out with the old, in with the new,” he says slowly, curiously. He strokes his mustache like an old-timey villain, looking thoughtful as he tilts his head. 

“You have time to think about it,” David offers, shooting Alexis a look over the man’s head. 

He’ll say it to keep Ray happy, to sound professional, but he’s not backing down on this one. The team needs a new name, something to distance them from their past and bring them into their future, and it will wrap his and Alexis’ work up in a very nice bow. 

“Alright, hit the lockers,” Ronnie calls. “I want you in the weight room by noon; OIT starts at two! Logan – in the cold bath, Sven – PT's waiting for you in seven!” 

And well, none of that means anything, so obviously they’re totally ready for this. 

David and Alexis get to their feet as the hockey players come flooding in off the ice, and he’s slightly less annoyed with everything in general when he sees them all collapse onto the benches to put protective sleeves onto the blades of their skates, shoving and jostling each other as they go. He and Alexis had been allowed to poke their heads into the weight room and another large space that David assumes was a basketball court - based on the hoops and slightly familiar lines on the floor, the strange, phantom ache that had flashed through the bridge of his nose when he’d seen them - so he’s able to anticipate which way the herd will stampede on their way out. He’s careful to move himself out of the way of the group, rolling his eyes when Alexis leaves herself at the very edge of their path. 

Not all of them stop to flirt with her – just most of them. He can’t really blame them of course; Alexis is beautiful at first glance, fierce and determined and funny and kind on... well, maybe not _second_ but definitely on _twenty_ -second glance. She’s not as selfish or reckless or irritating as she used to be anyway, so he supposes he can forgive their attentions. 

If he feels like sticking his tongue out at _Patrick_ when he studiously avoids David’s entire presence as he passes, well, that’s his own business. 

“You still here?” Ronnie asks bluntly as she follows the last few up the steps to where David and Alexis are waiting. 

He opens his mouth with a sharp retort, already on edge, but Ray is already raising his hands in supplication. 

“I’m on my way out, I promise,” he says. “I have to be in Toronto for a small business conference in an hour anyway.” 

David frowns, not only because Ray is already late if that’s the case. In the (very) brief bit of research he’d done prior to taking this job, he’d quickly learned that the Steelheads had gone from the junior leagues to the _biggest_ league, joining the most famous teams in North American in the National Hockey League alongside the likes of the Toronto Maple Leafs and the Montreal Canadiens. This didn’t really mean anything to _him_ of course, but from what little he’d read online it was a pretty big deal – hardly _small business._

“I know you’ll take good care of David and Alexis, won’t you Ronnie?” he says as he gathers a satchel out from under one of the benches. “I’ve shown them their office so they should have all the paperwork they need, but I’m sure they have questions.” 

Ronnie snorts, rolls her eyes. 

“I’m sure they do,” she drolls, but Ray ignores her in favor of calling out loud, cheerful goodbyes to them and to the team who’ve already disappeared into another one of the creepy, underground tunnels. 

It takes another five minutes to get rid of him, then Ronnie is collecting a bag of her own, stuffing it with the last of the detritus scattered over the benches – papers, a clipboard and pen, water bottle, towel. She doesn’t spare them a glance as she turns to leave, waving a hand up at a booth near the top of the bleachers on the other side, resulting in a quick flicker of the lights. David jumps and grabs Alexis by the hand, dragging her along after the reticent head coach in an effort not to be left behind in the dark. 

Eventually they find themselves in a darkened hallway slightly more familiar than all the other darkened hallways, and they must be above ground again because there are windows starting to let in midday sunlight. He only feels fractionally more at ease, but oddly enough Ronnie’s blunt, dismissive attitude helps. When she stops to unlock a door and leaves it hanging open behind her, he assumes that’s as much invitation as they’re going to get. 

Allowing Alexis inside ahead of him, David pulls the door shut quietly and makes sure it’s securely latched. 

“Sit,” Ronnie says gruffly, jerking her chin toward the two chairs placed in front of her desk, “And tell me exactly what it is you think _you two_ can do to fix this team.” 

“Well, like we’ve discussed with Ray,” Alexis says, shimmying forward onto the edge of her seat so that she can tap her fingers against the edge of Ronnie’s desk, “David and I will be working on funding and public relations to earn your team more money and recognition to improve your ratings.” 

Ronnie quirks an eyebrow, is clearly holding back an amused snort. Something protective flares in David’s chest because even if Alexis’ terminology isn’t quite on point, she’s got the right spirit. 

“What’s the biggest problem you have?” he demands, because he knows it’s not _them._

Ronnie looks him up and down before something like respect flickers across her face. Sighing, she sits back in her chair and dips into a desk drawer, pulling out a glass and a very nice bottle of scotch. She glances at both of them and merely shrugs when they shake their heads no. David thinks it’s far too early for alcohol – to even be awake really – but he appreciates the gesture and understands the impulse. 

“The biggest problem with the team?” she asks, pouring out a careful finger before recapping and disappearing the bottle, “Or with the players?” 

“Um, both?” David asks, frowning. “The team is _made_ of players...” 

Ronnie sighs again, more resigned and less disappointed this time, before sitting back and taking a hearty slug of her drink. 

“Money is always a problem,” she begins, and from the corner of his eye David sees Alexis start to scribble furiously on her notepad. “We’re the newest team in the NHL, lowest on the totem pole. The guys don’t make half as much as any of the other rookies and that’s fine, because they all still got a pretty big raise and a promotion out of the deal, but we need money to run this machine. Endorsements, sponsors – we need to grab them where we can and save even more.” 

“What are your biggest expenses?” 

“Travel,” Ronnie replies immediately. “Transporting, bunking, and feeding this crew is no cheap feat. I’m sure there’s expense sheets somewhere in that mess of paperwork Ray calls a filing cabinet.” 

“So why do you think you haven’t gotten the sponsors you need?” Alexis asks curiously. 

Ronnie barks a laugh, a little too bitter for comfort. 

“Have you _seen_ the stats from last year?” she asks, and David and Alexis trade a glance. 

He knew they’d probably forgotten something. 

“Look, they’re new,” she says flatly, like it pains her to give the team any credit at all. “They were good as a junior league, damn good, but now they’re playing with the big boys. They work well together as a unit because they’ve _been_ one since they were all puppies on their first skates, but that also means that we don’t have a single senior player on the ice.” 

“That seems... problematic,” he offers, going with the least offensive term he can think of as he translates that to terms he understands, the stupidity of opening a gallery with an entirely new team, not a single member who’s ever worked one before. 

Ronnie barks a laugh and toasts him with her glass. 

“That’s one way of putting it,” she says into her whiskey. “I’ve tried to tell Ray to trade some of these guys, to get some older blood on the team, but that’s one fight I don’t think any of us will win. Plus the guys are pretty tight-knit; when they were offered the chance to come up to the NHL they came together because they earned the opportunity together.” 

David frowns. 

He doesn’t know anything about that type of loyalty, but it still seems like a bad reason to hold on to dead weight and not bring some experience to the situation. 

Ronnie must read all that on his face because she sighs before nodding her head at him. 

“Ray took a chance buying the Steelheads,” she allows. “Not everyone would have taken that kind of risk.” 

And well... 

_That_ David can understand. 

“More brand promotion then,” he mumbles, and beside him Alexis nods her head in agreement, hair waving where she’s bent over her notes. “Ok, what about the players then? Who’s the biggest problem.” 

“B13.” 

David looks up in surprise – he'd been thinking of Ted and Miguel, the way they’d kept away from each other except when they were colliding. Ronnie's answer doesn’t even make sense. 

“B13?” Alexis parrots in confusion, and Ronnie nods emphatically. 

“Brewer, number 13,” she explains, and Patrick’s scowl flashes through David’s mind. “He was the Steelhead’s golden boy until they moved up to the majors.” 

“What happened?” 

“He choked on the pressure,” Ronnie scoffs. “Blew up his whole life apparently – ditched his fiancé, moved further away from the rink than is really feasible just to get away. Thought he would quit at one point – kind of wish he had, to be honest. He got dropped to B-team, second string, left us scrambling to replace him halfway through the season because he couldn’t hack it.” 

“Media coaching then,” Alexis murmurs to herself, but David can already tell the problem runs deeper than that. 

You don’t do what Ronnie says Patrick did just because it’s too hard to paste on a smile. 

David should know. 

“We can clean up his image but what about his actual game?” he asks, looking Ronnie dead-on. “Can he hack it on the ice?” 

Ronnie’s mouth twists and the fact that she doesn’t immediately respond tells David two things; that she’s actually thinking about the answer - because she clearly didn’t like Patrick Brewer, and that she _does_ care about the fate of this team. 

Finally, with a shrug of her shoulders, she answers. 

“I don’t know anymore.” 

They talk for another half hour or so while Ronnie drains the last of her scotch, clearly unsettled by the circumstances she’s found herself in. She’s honest even if she is painfully blunt, and David thinks they get a much better picture from her than they could ever hope for from Ray. Outside of Patrick the team does have a few issues. Sure enough Ted and Miguel do have a rivalry, but apparently it’s more friendly than anything. They’re both goalies – whatever that means – Ted for the A team and Miguel for the B team, and both are considered Captains of their own little crew. 

“Is that smart?” he asks, concerned by the way he’d seen the team break down the middle to side with either of the two. “In-fighting doesn’t seem very conducive to team sports.” 

“Eh, keeps ‘em hungry,” Ronnie shrugs as she puts away her glass. “Miguel wants to make first string, he works harder. Mullens wants to keep his spot, _he_ works harder. Works out in the end.” 

David’s not convinced that’s how that works, but he supposes he’ll have to wait to see if they join forces when faced with an opposing team to know for sure. 

Ronnie eventually dismisses them – fairly abruptly – by waving them out of her office when the phone rings, and he and Alexis find themselves wandering down the hallways again in search of the exit. With Ray already gone and the team lost in the depths of the building, they decide it best to call it a day and try to find a bus that can take them to the nearest used car lot. They spill outside onto the sidewalk where the sun is finally high in the sky and find a bench to sit on in a neat little flower garden off the entrance while they look up the routes, Alexis reviewing her notes while David searches. 

It’s a relatively warm day for late fall, a gentle breeze playing around their ankles, and it’s strangely quiet for a public place. As he scrolls through his phone David wonders idly if it’s a private rink that the team is using or if anyone can skate, when the peace is shattered by the sound of the doors clattering open and a group of men tripping out just around the corner from their little sitting area. They’re all laughter and crude jokes, and David rolls his eyes as they move closer along the edge of the shrubbery between the entryway and the garden. 

“... can’t say she’s not stunning,” a voice floats over to them - Ted, if David’s not mistaken. 

Beside him, Alexis blinks, then blushes and drops her head as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. 

“She is stunning,” another voice agrees – Patrick. “Anyone could see that.” 

“Yeah, but you can’t say her brother’s not attractive either,” Ted says, his tone curious and testing, and David very nearly opens his mouth to argue back, because Patrick _clearly_ isn’t interested in _that._

“I... sure,” Patrick replies coolly, and his obvious disdain stiffens David’s spine. “Objectively, he’s... handsome enough."

"You could go for drinks with him," Ted suggests, "When me and Alexis go."

"He's not my type!" Patrick says coldly. 

David feels an icy chill overtake him, feels Alexis wilting next to him, sees her reach out to touch his arm but he shakes his head. Stupid to be affected at all by this man’s bitchy attitude at all, whether to be annoyed or offended – they don’t even know each other. He’s pretty sure the guy is straight anyway, so it shouldn’t matter. 

“...guess we should be focusing on practice anyway,” Ted says glumly. “They weren’t very impressed with us.” 

“And we should be impressed with them?” Patrick scoffs. “They obviously don’t know anything about hockey – they don’t even _skate._ I can’t believe Ray talked them up so much.” 

“He said they were going to do the advertising and stuff,” Ted replies, and David feels his hurt solidify into something sharper and colder. “They’re supposed to be _really_ good at _that_ – they don’t _need_ to know how to skate.” 

“It doesn’t make sense,” Patrick mumbles petulantly. 

David is precisely two seconds from standing up and telling him exactly where to shove his precious, pretentious hockey stick when a sudden blast from a whistle and Ronnie’s gruff bark summons her minions back inside for more practice. He and Alexis listen to the hockey monsters go, laughing and shouting as they crash back through the doors, and he has to bite the inside of his lip hard before his voice feels stable enough to speak. 

“Come on,” he says, clearing his throat as he pushes to his feet. “If we walk around the block, we can catch a bus.” 

“Don’t let him get to you David,” Alexis says quietly, twining her arm through the crook of his elbow as they set off. “If he liked you, you’d have to like... talk to him, and pretend you were interested in this dumb game.” 

David’s laugh is nothing more than a soft little huff, a broken sound, but he still squeezes Alexis’ hand where it rests on his forearm in thanks. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he promises her, promises _himself._ “As it is, I wouldn’t _skate_ with him anyway.”


	5. Chapter 5

Three days later it’s Friday night and David and Alexis have successfully completed their first week working for Ray Butani and the Steelheads. One might argue it was not a _full_ week, but _one_ would be _Stevie_ and therefore one’s opinion would not be taken into account. In those three days they had managed to find a suitable used car that was both affordable and reliable - even if the Honda’s year and color pallet left something to be desired – to sort their way through the mess of paperwork left for them in their office, and, most importantly, avoid the rest of the hockey team in its entirety. David in particular feels that this a victory to be celebrated, and when Stevie surprises them by flying in to visit, that’s exactly what they do. 

“This place is nice!” she says in an accusatory tone as she pushes past David into the apartment, leaving him stunned on the threshold. “I never stay anywhere this nice!” 

“You’re literally in the business of rescuing crappy motels,” David huffs as he steps backward, back into the apartment, before closing the door and turning around to face her. “I hope you’re not surprised by that.” 

For a moment they stare at each other, blank, before they both crack and step into each other’s arms for a tight hug. They’re quick about it and when it’s over pretend it didn’t happen, because despite anything they’re both still a bit prickly and sharp around the edges, but god David’s missed her and is glad she’s here. 

“Stevie?!” 

Stevie goes a bit wide-eyed and panicked as Alexis emerges from her bedroom and bounces over to her side, jumping up and down in excitement before gathering her up in a much more cuddly hug than David’s had been and rocking her side to side. She looks to him for salvation but David just rolls his lips in and tries not to laugh, moving away into the kitchen to find the delivery menu for the local pizza place. By the time Alexis has dragged Stevie through the whole apartment, showing off every little feature including the balcony and the door com, he’s placed an order for two large pepperoni-double-cheese and a small thin-crust margherita and pulled down the wine glasses. 

“Wait, so someone _died_ here?” Stevie asks as she and Alexis make their way over to the island while David pours. 

“Yeah, um, apparently the guy’s belt like, got caught on the ceiling fan and grabbed him? Or something?” Alexis rattles off, like the fact that someone died in their apartment isn’t gross and the details aren’t even grosser. “But it’s like, super cute otherwise, right? Plus I think he died in David’s room, so...” 

“Ok, _how_ do you know that?” David gasps as Stevie slips the wine bottle out of his hand and tops up her properly half-filled glass. 

“There’s no fan in my room David – weren't you listening to Ray?” 

“Ray?” Stevie asks, taking a slug of her wine as David narrows his eyes at his sister, that sneaky little b... 

Alexis puts her finger under her nose like a mustache and Stevie hums in recognition, and all three of them seem to think that a good enough reason to drink because they all lift their glasses. The bell rings to announce the pizza’s arrival just as they’re finishing them, and David leaves the girls to refill them while he trips down the stairs to retrieve it. Twenty minutes later they’re all sacked out across the living room with a romcom playing in the background and well on their way to buzzed, and it’s almost like nothing’s changed. 

“So do you miss Schitt’s Creek yet?” Stevie asks, just to be annoying. 

“Ugh, do you?” David snarks as Alexis nods in agreement with his response, taking a bite of her third slice of pizza. 

“Sometimes,” Stevie says with a shrug, like that’s not the last answer David expected her to give. “Traveling all the time is exhausting.” 

“You can’t travel with our dad your whole life Stevie!” Alexis councils in a whiny tone. “Like, traveling around the world meeting boys is fun and all, but like, it gets old eventually.” 

“And that opinion has nothing to do with the fact that you lost all your money and _can’t_ do that anymore right?” Stevie snorts into her wine glass. 

“You know you don’t have to settle in _Schitt’s Creek_ though, right?” David points out over Alexis’ exasperated _ugh!_ “You could pick anywhere.” 

“You mean like Mississauga?” she scoffs. 

David shrugs, staring at his cuticles like it doesn’t matter, like it wouldn’t be one of the best things that ever happened to him. 

“Anywhere.” 

“Gross,” Stevie groans, rolling over and pulling a joint from her flannel pocket. “Seriously though, enough about me.” 

After a few rounds of puff-puff-pass they’re all feeling a little looser and a little more comfortable with any sincerity that sneaks up on them, giggling as they fight over space on the couch cushions. David ends up in the middle, with both girls’ legs draped over his lap, and the thought flits through his head that he’s never felt safer than he does in this moment, with his own job and his own money, with his friend who doesn’t let him get away with anything and with his sister right beside him where he can keep an eye on her. It only makes sense that that safety is shattered by their ganging up on him. 

To be fair it’s probably his own fault. 

He _knows them_ \- he should have expected it - but they lull him into a false sense of security by starting with Alexis, who could talk about herself for days without a change in topic. 

“It’s just, he’s such a great guy,” she sighs, tipping her head back over the arm of the couch. “Smart, funny...” 

“Handsome,” David says, because he knows that’s what Alexis is really thinking. 

“Conveniently rich,” Stevie chimes in, because _she_ knows that’s what Alexis is thinking. 

“It’s not like I’m planning to marry him and kill him for his money!” Alexis yips indignantly. 

“You've like a lot stupider person," David snorts into his wine glass, which is depressingly empty. “He did look ready to marry her though. Like, serious puppy-dog eyes.” 

“Of course,” Stevie agrees, nodding seriously, both of them deciding to play along because Alexis rarely smokes with them, rarely participates in their little slumber parties – only ever when she’s bothered by something. 

“He told her she was the prettiest girl the ice rink had ever seen,” David confides. “And then we overheard him say she was _stunning...”_

He’s teasing her, they both are, but Alexis just hums and plucks at his shirt sleeve again, drawing her knees up against his thigh in order to curl closer. 

“I don’t know,” she says softly, then, as if realizing what she’s doing, perking up and putting on a pout. _“Patrick Brewer_ wasn’t as worth overhearing. _So_ mean David.” 

“Who’s Patrick Brewer?” Stevie asks. 

“Another one of the hockey monsters,” David huffs, rolling his eyes and reaching over to the coffee table to trade his empty glass for the joint still smoldering in the ash tray. “Number 13.” 

“Bad luck,” Stevie says wisely, nodding to herself. 

“He said David was just _‘objectively’_ handsome,” Alexis says, complete with finger quotes. “And totally not his type.” 

“Your brother _is_ an acquired taste,” Stevie agrees. 

“Ok, I’m choosing to take that as a compliment,” David says, “And it really doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need to think I’m pretty; he just needs to do what I say.” 

“Mmm...” 

“For the _hockey_ to work!” David squawks as they both narrow their eyes and tilt their heads at him. “Oh my god!” 

“To be fair, you really don’t know anything about hockey,” Stevie points out, like this was news to him and they hadn’t hashed and rehashed that point before he and Alexis had moved back to this god-forsaken country. 

“I don’t need to!” he insists. “Ugh, you sound just like him.” 

“What, he said you don’t know anything about hockey?” Stevie asks, squinting, clearly confused. 

“He was complaining that we couldn’t skate,” Alexis clarifies. “Like we need to to do our job. Besides, it sounds like he’s the worst skater on the whole team so it’s not like he has room to talk.” 

David scowls at the tv – he knows she’s trying to comfort him again, but it’s still just as new and uncomfortable as it always is and for some reason this time it feels worse for some reason? 

“You could have just _told him_ you can skate David,” Alexis points out, playing with one of her cuticles. 

Oh yes. 

That’s why. 

“Not like they can,” he argues dully, because while he _had_ gone through a period where he was _very_ into Michelle Kwan and had practiced diligently for hours every week, he wasn’t a professional athlete. 

Maybe he _had_ done a few small performances, but he wasn’t _Olympic_ level. 

And besides, figure skating wasn’t ice hockey. 

He doesn’t think someone like Patrick Brewer – who probably wears straight-legged, mid-range denim – would think it counts. 

“I still think you should tell him,” Alexis sniffs. “If he’s gonna be so high-and-mighty about it he deserves to have it shoved in his face. David, you should _show_ him!” 

At this Alexis sits, up, digging her heels into David’s thigh and shaking his shoulder in excitement. 

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he says haltingly, looking to Stevie for support. “I haven’t skated in years...” 

“Hey, it’s like riding a bike isn’t it?” Stevie points out unhelpfully. “I’m with Alexis on this one. Only think about it – you can only prove him wrong _once...”_

_“Oooo, yay_ David, _yay!”_ Alexis cheers, bouncing in her seat and jostling the entire couch. “Yes! The next time he’s being snooty you can just, prove him wrong!” 

“Why do you care about this?” he demands, feeling his cheeks heat. 

“Because David, he doesn’t think we can do this.” 

And that... 

Well... 

That’s it isn’t it? 

They’re all worried about that – Ray and Ronnie and the entire team, and not least of all David and Alexis themselves. The mood killed by the reality check and their buzz slowly fading, they transition into preparing for bed, each of them taking their turns in the bathroom before saying goodnight. Stevie follows David into his room and helps him to put an extra set of blankets and pillows on top of the mattress, the better to build a wall between them. While they’re both comfortable with each other and where they stand, it’s easy enough to take precautions against morning wood and awkward wake-ups, so why not? 

Once they’ve climbed in and gotten themselves situated, the light turned off and the god-awful ceiling fan turning lazily above them, David closes his eyes and breathes, determined not to stare across the room in the dark at the closet doors, the closet that holds a pair of black-on-black Reidall ice skates packed carefully into their hard-sided storage case. 

“So, hockey players huh?” Stevie says in the dark, and David tries to bite back a smile. “Any hot ones?” 

“Ugh, they’re _all_ hot,” David grumbles, and beside him Stevie laughs. 

“How horrible for you,” she chuckles, and David rolls his eyes. “Surrounded by a bunch of hot, testosterone-fueled men who know how to handle a stick.” 

“Oh my god,” David breathes, annoyed with himself that he hadn’t prepared for sports-based innuendo. “Please stop this.” 

“Men who work well in a tight corner and can score on the back-half?” Stevie whispers, just to make it worse. “Men who...” 

“I don’t know what that means!” David groans, pressing his palms to his eyes. 

A moment of silence passes and it’s almost long enough for him to think she’s taken pity on him. 

“I bet _Patrick_ has good wood on his stick,” she mutters emphasizing her k’s. 

“Well it doesn’t matter because he clearly hates me for no good reason,” David hisses in the dark. 

“You seem flustered,” Stevie points out cheerfully. “You _like_ him.” 

“I _don’t_ like him,” David insists. “He’s... _rude,_ and _arrogant,_ and _opinionated...”_

“So just like you.” 

David opens his mouth to argue but she’s not exactly wrong, so he can’t think of anything to say. 

“Alexis is right though, all you’d really have to do is show him some of your moves," she says, shimmying her hips. "Maybe challenge him to a spin-off and leave him crying on the ice.” 

“I don’t see how that would help us do our job,” David huffs. “We’re supposed to be making the team _better,_ not breaking hockey players. Besides, I told you. I haven’t skated in years.” 

“So practice,” Stevie points out. “You have the keys to a rink. And you can’t tell me you don’t miss it. That’s why you finally caved and actually took this job, isn’t it?” 

And well... 

Sometimes David hates being so seen. 

Eyes stinging, chest aching with the truth of that simple statement, he turns over and goes to sleep.


End file.
